


i don't twist and turn that way

by FermentedMareMilk (Metalbutter)



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Format, Abusive Relationship, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Role Reversal, Sorry Not Sorry, Stockholm Syndrome, attempted suicide, because alfie and iwan, but when i look at the tags, holy shit, i hope i tagged this enough, i will sail this ship across the narrow sea, implied domestic abuse, its like, man im in deep, more show than book, nah that cant be, possibly too deep?, ramsay rhymes with supergay, referenced self-harm, sort of, those cads, well only if you pronounce it ram-zay and not ram-zee, writing this i thought i was pretty funny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-28
Updated: 2014-05-28
Packaged: 2018-01-26 21:43:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1703576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Metalbutter/pseuds/FermentedMareMilk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You trust me, right?” Theon whispers in the dark.</p>
<p>“I shouldn’t,” Ramsay murmurs against his skin.</p>
<p>--</p>
<p>alternatively titled "the five times theon teased death and the one time he didn't"</p>
<p>or "the five times ramsay had a heart attack and the one time he only almost did"</p>
            </blockquote>





	i don't twist and turn that way

**Author's Note:**

> title from marina & the diamonds' 'seventeen' (which, ironically, is the opposite of the thramsay dynamic... or is it?)

It starts with a bottle of pills.

\--

Robb looked stunning, as usual. Jon, the same. Actual smiles, clapping on the shoulder, enthusiastic greetings. (As if they’d missed him. He hopes they really had. It’s a futile thought, but it’s in his head nonetheless.)

If they’d seen the bruises they didn’t say anything, anyway. That was back when his hair was still dark.

 He’d drunk too much. One, two, five shots. Or twice that. He can’t really remember. It was getting late when he left, though, _that_ he remembers.

11 pm. Jon and Robb’s faces when he left. He remembers that, too, and he clutches it close to his heart. (“ _You’re leaving? So early?_ ”)

Ramsay had waited for him on the couch, leaned back all relaxed and playing with a belt.

Theon had stood there with a hand still on the door. Neither of them had said a word.

Finally, Ramsay had wetted his lips and looked him in the eye. “Where’s the groceries?”

“Forgot my wallet,” Theon had lied with a smile.

Ramsay had smiled back at him then. “I can smell everything on you.”

“Oh, right,” Theon had said. His hand dropped to his side. “Sorry, I kind of ran out of shampoo so I had to use yours. Think I used too much. Smells pretty strong, doesn’t it?”

\--

It doesn’t need to be said that he remembers it; every second spent with Ramsay is a fresh stamp on his brain.

\--

His body burns with the same sting the belt always brings. His head throbs. Somehow he has woken up first. Shakily, he gets up off the floor and stumbles into the bathroom with his eyes down. The entire room is wrapped around with mirrors.

Theon roots around in the cabinets. He taps two Advil into his hand and gulps them down before he can get caught.

That’s when he realizes just how full the pill bottle is. He shakes it a little bit and puts it back, before going back to his spot on the bedroom floor and doing a search on his phone.

_How much Advil can kill you?_

There are lots of answers, but it’s all the same thing: _a whole bottle_.

Theon leaves his phone on the nightstand just inches from Ramsay’s sleeping face. He goes back to sleep himself, and when he wakes up, the bed is made, his phone’s history is deleted, Ramsay is gone and so are the pills.

\--

Theon knows how to tie a noose. He’s known it since he was a little kid. Rodrik and Maron taught him themselves.

“So you know shit you’re actually going to fucking use in the future,” Rodrik had said.

“This is something we’re teaching you as _brothers_ , Theon,” Maron had added.

“Out of a sense of _obligation_ ,” Rodrik had laughed.

\--

When Ramsay comes home with rope and a blindfold, Theon looks up at the high ceiling and the beams there.

Much later he asks, on a day when his throat doesn’t feel so sore, “Do we have a stepladder?”

Ramsay stares at him and says, “No.”

“Shame,” Theon says. “That portrait of your dad would’ve looked really good right... there.” He points at a spot high up on the wall.

Ramsay bristles, like he always does when his father is mentioned. “Maybe I’ll get you one, and then you can hang it up there, so I have another excuse to beat you fucking bloody.”

“You don’t need an excuse,” Theon says gently.

\--

Ramsay leaves the new stepladder in the middle of the living room, still in its wrappings and the giant plastic bag with the Wal-mart logo printed on the side.

Theon grins to himself and almost runs for the rope.

\--

When Ramsay comes home to Theon standing on the stepladder and tying a rope around a rafter, all he does is quirk an eyebrow and go into the bedroom.

When Theon follows him, he doesn’t miss the way Ramsay swallows and sags back into the bed.

\--

The next morning Theon finds his 'experimental macrame' in the dumpster.

\--

By this time Ramsay has learned.

Next time he allows Theon a bath, he stays and doesn’t take his eyes off him for a single second.

“Can I at least bring the toaster inside?” Theon jokes half-heartedly.

Ramsay answers that with a vicious backhand.

\--

“I found this great recipe online,” Theon starts.

Ramsay eyes the kitchen knives and promptly cuts him off with a “no.”

\--

Theon doesn’t know if he should find it funny when everything poisonous in the house suddenly disappears overnight.

He’s still in charge of groceries, though, and a jug of bleach finds its way into the cart.

\--

“Hey,” Theon says. The remaining fingers of his left hand are poised on the cap. The other is curled around the base of the jug.

“Is this some sort of fucking game to you?” Ramsay asks. His work shirt is halfway undone. Theon watches the sweat trickle down his exposed chest. Ramsay follows the movement of his eyes.

“I thought you liked games,” Theon says eventually.

Ramsay audibly grinds his teeth together.

\--

“You trust me, right?” Theon whispers in the dark.

“I shouldn’t,” Ramsay murmurs against his skin.

\--

“Contingency situations,” Ramsay explains when Theon finds a fully-loaded gun in the nightstand drawer.

“You don’t n-need to explain anything to a dog,” Theon rasps out. He scratches at the skin under his collar with his other hand and puts the gun back down, picking the bottle of lube up instead.

“Shut the fuck up.” Ramsay’s glare is usually intense. This time around it’s like blue fire, the hottest part at the bottom of the flame. Theon doesn’t even try to look away. _If you ever touch it again_ goes unsaid.

“Okay.”

\--

Afterward, Theon says, unashamedly, “I’ll only ever use it if you leave me.”

Ramsay doesn’t speak.

_I’d never leave you_ , he says with his body and his teeth and his nails.


End file.
